


Peppermint Kisses

by SymbioticAntithesis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Uses His Words, M/M, No Alpha Pack, but it turned out not being Christmas-y at all, but still a little fluffy, character development like woah, post season two, this was supposed to be a fluffy Christmas thing, with some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioticAntithesis/pseuds/SymbioticAntithesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Derek smells peppermint on Stiles, and one time he tastes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. But it's 4 o'clock in the morning on Christmas and I'm way too tired to look it over. So, take it with a grain of salt.

**1.**

A few weeks after Gerard’s disappearance and the kanima fiasco, things have settled down in Beacon Hills.  Derek regrouped his pack and drove Peter off his territory.  Despite Peter’s insistence that they were family and they were still _pack_ , Derek had flashed his eyes and bared his teeth.  He didn’t care that he was blood – Peter had killed Laura and Derek will never forgive him for it.

After that, he promised himself that he’d become a better alpha, and he started by taking Jackson aside and having an in-depth conversation with him, no holds barred.  It went surprisingly well, and Jackson joined his pack without much complaint.  Well, he did complain, but unlike Scott, he seemed to understand the importance of pack and the disadvantage of not having one.  On top of that, Jackson had _wanted_ the bite.  Scott hadn’t.  So Jackson was now a part of Derek’s rag-tag group of teenagers and though Derek was relived he wouldn’t have another obstinate omega like Scott on his hands, he also wasn’t completely sure how he felt about it.  Because thinking back on it, he should’ve never bitten Jackson in the first place.  Then the kanima wouldn’t have happened and the murders wouldn’t have happened . . . basically, it was his fault. 

Usually he’d workout or run when felt the guilt overwhelm him, but with four betas under his tutelage, Derek had more than his fair share of exercise.  He ran his betas ragged every day after school (even if they had lacrosse practice), trained them until even their werewolf stamina could no longer keep up.  Lydia and Stiles, the humans of the group – Scott still refused to join his pack and things were even tenser between Derek and Allison after she shot Boyd full of arrows and tried to kill him – sat on the sidelines, speaking in low voices that even Derek couldn’t quite hear.  As far as he knew, Lydia was slowly but surely translating the Argent’s bestiary and Stiles was compiling the translations into a leather bound book.

“It has to be a leather bound book.  Have you never watched any fantasy show or played an RPG ever?” he said when Derek had raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ choice.

Derek simply rolled his eyes and let Stiles do whatever he wanted.  He’s learned that Stiles was an anomaly.  An anomaly that had somehow wheedled his way under Derek’s skin.  Ever since the pool, Derek started to see Stiles in a different light.  He was human, sure, but he was loyal to a fault, courageous, and intelligent.  Stiles didn’t see werewolves as monsters, didn’t think _Derek_ was a monster.  They may disagree on certain things, but Stiles was never afraid to speak his mind, was always ready to call Derek out on his actions, and in the weeks after the kanima and Gerard Argent, Stiles had become _important._

He was still a pain in the ass, though.

“Yo, grumpy pants!  What’s shaking?” Stiles called out, barging into the loft, his lacrosse duffel slung over his shoulder.  The scents of sweat, grass, and earth trailed behind him.  Stiles had just come from practice, then, and neglected to shower before invading Derek’s private space.  Typical.

Derek had purchased the loft after multiple jabs from his betas and the humans on his living conditions.  He finally caved after a month, tired of hearing the teens’ complaints.  They’d stopped haranguing him, but now they thought it was acceptable to infiltrate whenever they wanted.  He wondered again for the hundredth time – and it was definitely not going to be the last – why he decided to build a pack out of teenagers.

Second worse decision of his life.

Derek didn’t answer Stiles, simply popped another truffle into his mouth and cocked an unimpressed eyebrow.  Sweets were his second go-to when he was feeling down.  Laura had always teased him for it, and though the memory of her poking fun of him for his sweet tooth should hurt, it actually made him feel closer to his family in a weird abstract way.  He’s ceased to question why, just accepted it.

“Dude, you have chocolate?” Stiles said, perking up.  “Can I – ”

“No,” Derek interrupted.

Stiles’ expression twisted into a frown, his brow furrowed and lips downturned.  “Why not?” he asked petulantly.

“Because they’re mine,” Derek said, reaching for another truffle, not breaking eye contact with Stiles.  He’d never admit it aloud, but he liked riling the teen up.  It was amusing, and he liked how emotion played on Stiles’ face.  He liked watching surprise turn to anger, anger to frustration, frustration to bemusement, bemusement to resignation, resignation to fondness and amusement.  Stiles was always so open, easy to read.  And his favorite thing was seeing the passion in Stiles’ eyes – even if it was out of annoyance or exasperation and at Derek’s expense – Stiles always looked so _alive_.

Stiles scowled and turned towards the kitchen.  “Fine, be a dingbat.”

Derek raised his other eyebrow, tracking the teen across the room.  “Elegant.”  He had long since gave up trying to dissuade Stiles from giving him random nicknames because his threats never worked anyway.  The nicknames didn’t hurt, and Derek had to admit that some of them were quite inventive.  And he kind of found it endearing, too.  Giving someone a nickname meant they were fond of you; Laura used to do it all the time.  And, well, Stiles was the only one who seemed _brave_ enough to call Derek anything other than his name and he secretly enjoyed the singularity.

“Ugh, whatever, you jerk,” he flapped his arm vaguely in his direction and disappeared around the corner.  Derek heard him start to dig around unceremoniously through Derek’s drawers and cabinets.

“Are you here for a reason?”

“Nope,” Stiles said.  Stiles’ heartbeat suddenly stuttered and Derek narrowed his eyes, rolling the truffle he just popped in his mouth on his tongue.  “Just came to see how the town’s recluse is doing.  You’re not helping your ex-convict status by hermiting yourself away, y’know.”

“I was exonerated,” Derek said.  “And you’re the reason your father arrested me in the first place.”  It was an ongoing thing between them.  Stiles always brought up Derek’s incarceration and Derek always shoved the blame back to the teen.  There was never heat behind their words, though, and Derek vaguely wondered when his arrest had become a _joke_.

“Uh huh,” Stiles said, distracted.  “Well if you didn’t look so suspicious in the first place, maybe we wouldn’t have thought you were a murderer.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been trespassing on my property in the first place you wouldn’t have had reason to,” he shot back.

Stiles scoffed, and Derek heard his cabinet snap shut.  The teen reappeared and eyed Derek critically.  “Please.  You look like a creeper regardless.”

Derek scowled, “I do not.”

This time Stiles raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and Derek had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing.  “You keep telling yourself that, sunshine.”

Derek huffed and unwrapped another truffle.  He couldn’t help how people saw him.  Derek didn’t really care, anyway.  As long as those _he_ cared about knew who he was, he couldn’t care less about what the other townspeople thought.

“Dude, how many did you eat?” Stiles asked incredulously.  Derek shrugged as the chocolate melted in his mouth.  “That is incredibly unfair.”

Derek smirked.  “Jealous of the wolf?”

“Never.”  Stiles’ heartbeat hitched and Derek’s smirk widened.  “Shut up,” he said.  “Stop cheating.”

“Can’t help it,” Derek said, unrepentant.

Stiles scowled, “Whatever.  I’ll leave you to your wolf-y things and to eat a nauseating amount of chocolate.”  His lips curved into a smile, “You know, you having a sweet tooth makes you a lot less intimidating.” 

Derek threw a truffle at him, and Stiles surprisingly dodged it.  The kid was getting faster.  Stiles cackled and scuttled out of the loft and just as Stiles left, Derek caught the scent of peppermint in his wake.  Derek frowned, confused.  Stiles hadn’t smelled like peppermint when he entered, why –

He shot up from the couch and crossed the room in a few quick strides and yanked open the cabinet where Stiles’ scent still lingered.  Derek huffed, his lips twitching up into a reluctant smile, yet unsure if he ought to feel impressed or annoyed.

Because Stiles had somehow managed to sneak away with a package of Derek’s York Peppermint Patties without him noticing.

Clever little shit.

 

**2.**

A week later, Derek had his betas run through his old property with him hot on their heels.  Their goal was to shake Derek off their trail and so far they were failing miserably.  He could easily pinpoint where each of his betas were by scent, sight, and sound.  To human senses, they’d be undetected, but Derek wanted them to be _better_.

Derek called it a night after he found and pinned each of his betas five times.  The wolves grumbled and limped back to their cars, Derek following behind, deaf to their complaints.  He knew that he was working them hard, but he wanted to ensure that they could protect themselves if the need arose.  He wanted the betas to be able to hold their own in a fight against supernatural creatures, hunters, and other wolves because Derek knew that realistically, he couldn’t be with them all the time.  He was pushing them so they could save themselves if Derek couldn’t.

The betas drove off and Derek watched them go silently, arms crossed against his chest.  When the overbearing scent of exhaust disappeared, it was replaced by peppermint, which wafted from the porch of his old house.  Derek frowned, his eyes flashing in suspicion.  He turned and made his way to the porch, the smell getting stronger as he approached.  There was another familiar aroma – cinnamon and bergamot – that Derek associated with Stiles.  Had the human dropped by while they were in the woods?

Derek leapt up the stairs and glanced to his left, where the peppermint fragrance was emanating from.  There was a plastic bag lying innocently against the porch rail and Derek knelt down to examine it.  Underneath the bag was a slip of paper and Derek tugged it out from under the bag and scanned it quickly.

_Thought you’d want these.  I swear I thought you were gonna kill me when you found out I stole your candy, but serves you right for not sharing, you meanie. >:(  – Stiles_

_PS, I promise I won’t tell anyone about your sweet tooth.  Though I guess everyone must’ve sniffed it out already, huh?  Well, regardless, your secret’s safe with me, buttercup._

Derek couldn’t help the soft huff of amusement that escaped him when he finished reading the note.  He folded the paper and slid it into his back pocket.  Stiles always managed to surprise him, and Derek stupidly hoped that Stiles would never _stop_.

He opened the bag and his lips curled upwards into a smile.  There were several Ghirardelli mint chocolate bars and random peppermint candies.  Derek shook his head, and jumped off the porch, heading to the Camaro.  He pulled out his phone and shot out a text.

 _You’re an idiot_.

He slid into the Camaro and chucked the bag onto the passenger seat.  His phone buzzed after he started the car and shifted gears, but he checked the message anyway, letting the vehicle idle.

_Don’t lie, you love it._

Derek’s heart clenched when he read the text and he frowned contemplatively at his phone.  He tapped his fingers on the back of his phone before turning the screen off and tossing it next to the bag of sweets.  Maybe he did, but no one had to know.

He drove back to his loft deep in thought, the scent of peppermint hovering in the air.

 

**3.**

“Stiles.”

The teen squeaked and flailed in his chair, his pulse skyrocketing, and Derek watched him amusedly from his perch on the windowsill.

“Will you _stop doing that_?” Stiles hissed, turning to face him, a hand over his heart. 

“No,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Stiles scowled, “Freaking wolves.  I don’t know why I put up with you guys.”

“I don’t, either,” he said, partially joking but mostly honest.

Derek knew that Stiles would stand by Scott no matter what, but the teen owed no allegiance to Derek or his pack.  Yet, Stiles came to their training sessions, even occasionally offered insight on tactics.  Derek assumed Stiles only tagged along because of Lydia, the girl who barely even noticed him, but as the weeks had passed, Derek noticed that Stiles no longer smelled of lust or desperation or longing.  It had been replaced by fondness and acceptance.  Lydia was, after all, the reason Jackson was still alive and the kanima was no more.  But if Stiles had given up on his hopeless crush on Lydia Martin – and interestingly, once he did, Lydia gave him his regard more and more often – Derek didn’t know why he still hung around Derek and his pack.  He’d thought, since things had settled down, Stiles would retreat back to the relative normality of life as a teenager.  Just like Scott had.  But he hadn’t, and Stiles was still there.  He should’ve known better, though; in the months Derek’s known Stiles, he learned that the teen wasn’t the type to idle. 

“What?” Stiles frowned, apparently picking up on the hesitancy in his voice.  Derek forgot sometimes that Stiles was incredibly observant, more so than most humans.  It was likely due to his father’s occupation, and simply because Stiles was ever curious.  Honestly, it was one of the things he liked about the human.

. . . Amongst other things.  He had mulled over Stiles’ text since last night and though he _knew_ it didn’t mean anything, Derek couldn’t help but wonder and he had come to a startling conclusion about midday while he was wandering the preserve.

He _liked_ Stiles.  As more than a friend, more than an ally, more than a pack member.  What he felt for Stiles was nothing compared to what he had felt for Kate.  With her, there had been definite distrust, and simple lust and infatuation.  Stiles, though, he trusted wholeheartedly – they’d saved each other’s lives multiple times since their acquaintance – and the human instilled affection and his wolf’s innate instinct to _protect_.  And as much as he enjoyed riling Stiles up, Derek also liked seeing him laugh and smile, even if it was at his own expense.

Stiles was something else.

And, well, it’s why he’s here now, instead of back at the loft.

“Not a lot of humans would willingly run with a pack of werewolves,” Derek explained, deflecting Stiles’ silent question.  And it wasn’t a complete lie.  His pack had had a few humans, but they had married into the family and most had already known about werewolves so they had known what they were getting themselves into.  Stiles, however – and Scott – were thrown unceremoniously into the world of the supernatural and Derek commended the grace of acceptance Stiles showed when faced with something so incredibly out-of-the-ordinary.  Well, _grace_ probably wasn’t the right word to describe Stiles.  But the teen had definitely taken the idea of werewolves much better than most would have.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shrugged.  “I gotta be ready just in case another supernatural creature comes knocking on our doors, right?”

“You don’t have to,” he said.  And that was the thing Derek didn’t understand.  Stiles _didn’t have to_.  But he did anyway.  “Scott isn’t.”

Stiles snorted, “Scott is Scott.  I’m me.”

Derek stared at the teen for long moments, scrutinizing him, and Stiles’ pulse heightened the longer he stared.  He leaned forward a little, still perched on the windowsill, and tilted his head slightly to the side.  Derek inhaled deeply and was hit with the heady scent of _teenager_ – sweat, come, arousal – but there was also the underlying fragrance of peppermint.

Peppermint.  Stiles’ room smelled like peppermint.  It wasn’t overwhelming, and most of the scent came from the bed, and Derek really didn’t want to delve further into why that was.  His eyes darted around the room, then landed back on Stiles, whose cheeks were lightly flushed in –

 _Oh_.

His eyes widened then narrowed.  Derek has long since learned to trust his heightened senses – sight, sound, and smell – to analyze his surroundings, and all of them were currently telling him that the teenager before him was brimming with _desire_.  He was sure that if he could taste Stiles, his tongue would tell him the same.

Desire.  It wasn’t quite the same as lust.  Desire had the connotation of emotional attachment.   Desire meant –

His heart stuttered in his chest, and his lips parted in surprise.  “I should go,” he suddenly said.

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked, surprised.  “Already?”  The teen winced, his pulse fluttering, “I mean, you didn’t demand anything of me or threaten bodily harm – you usually do when you climb in through my window.” 

“No,” Derek said, eyes roving over Stiles’ face.  “I got what I came for.”  And without further explanation, he turned and dropped two stories down to the ground, but not before catching Stiles’ look of confusion.

He shook it off and headed back to his loft.  He had a lot to think about.

 

**4.**

Derek was running through the preserve when he caught a whiff of the now familiar scent of peppermint.  He changed direction mid-stride and started towards his old house.  It’s been a few days since Derek’s realization on Stiles’ windowsill, and Derek hasn’t seen the teen since.  Not that he was avoiding him.  Derek had kept the same training schedule, lingered at his usual haunts.  He refused to run away from his problems; if he’s to become a better alpha, this was one way to do it.

But while Derek was intentionally normalizing his actions, Stiles wasn’t.  He neglected to show up to training and he didn’t barge into Derek’s loft uninvited or shoot Derek random text messages.  It was more like Stiles was avoiding Derek.  It worried him, but Derek carried on as usual.  Now, with the scent of peppermint and cinnamon and bergamot in the air, Derek followed the trail that would undoubtedly lead him to Stiles.

Sure enough, when Derek jogged into the clearing of the Hale house, Stiles was sitting on the hood of his Jeep, kicking his legs idly and staring thoughtfully at the broken, burned out wooden structure.  Derek slowed to a walk and approached the teen, making enough noise to alert Stiles of his presence.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly when Derek came to a halt next to the Jeep.  Stiles smelled of . . . resignation, dejection.  He was about to ask why when Stiles spoke again.  “So, I’m sorry.”

Derek frowned, confused.  “For what?”

Stiles sighed.  “Y’know, for being me.  For the night you came by for no reason then just left.  For leaking my emotions everywhere.  For wanting someone I can never have, _again_.  For what happened to you and your family.  For Kate.  For your sister.  For everything.”  Stiles kicked the back of his heels against the bumper of the car.  “I just – I’m sorry, okay?  It’s just a stupid crush and you can just ignore it.  I don’t want it to mess up what we already have.”  A brief pause.  “Why aren’t you saying anything?  It’s making me nervous.”

Derek suppressed a huff of amusement, knowing that Stiles would take it the wrong way.  The teen’s heart was thundering away in his chest, and Derek could smell the anticipation and fear of rejection coming off of Stiles in waves.  “I didn’t leave because of that,” Derek finally said.

“Because of what?” Stiles asked warily.  “I just listed a whole bunch of stuff, dude.”

Derek’s lip twitched up in a small smile.  “All of it.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “How did you find out about Kate?”  He wasn’t angry or defensive, just curious.  Sure the guilt still simmered underneath his skin, the pain of loss and betrayal burnt deep in his core, but he’s lived with it for years that now it’s become an innate part of him.  Kate was dead and he was still the only Hale left aside from Peter, but . . . there was nothing more he could do about it.  It’s in the past and he couldn’t change it, as much as he wished he could.

“Oh,” Stiles blushed.  “I kind of figured it out.  My dad had the Hale fire files at home when Peter was wreaking havoc and I sorta, er, stole them?”

This time, Derek allowed himself to let out a laugh.  “Of course.”  Derek leaned against the Jeep next to Stiles, and he could feel the teen’s body heat radiating from him, Stiles’ heart beating erratically in his chest.  “I won’t ignore it,” he added, eyeing Stiles.  “I don’t . . . want to.”

Sties’ heart, if possible, pounded harder.  “Why not?” he asked in dismay.  “I can’t – I don’t – ”

“You misunderstand me,” Derek interrupted.  He pushed off the Jeep and came to stand in front of Stiles, locking gazes with him.  “I don’t want to because I feel the same way.”

Stiles gaped at him, shocked.  Derek remained silent as he watched Stiles digest his words.  He hadn’t been lying when he said he hadn’t left for any of the reasons Stiles listed.  His reason, after he mulled it over extensively, was actually quite simple: he wasn’t ready yet.  While he could accept his attraction and inclination to Stiles, it didn’t mean he was ready for something _more_.  Not when Stiles was still underage and not when Derek hasn’t gotten his life back in order.  He was getting there, but he was far from where he wanted to be.

After long moments, Stiles’ lips curved into a tentative smile.  “Are you serious?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes, happiness and disbelief oozing out of his pores.

“No,” he deadpanned, “I’m Regulus.”

Stiles burst out laughing and Derek smiled.  “Oh my god, you dork!” he gasped out.  Derek shrugged.  “I can’t believe you just made a Harry Potter reference.”  Derek cocked an eyebrow.  Stiles cocked his in return, a smile still playing on his lips.  “C’mon, _Moony_ ,” he said, hopping off the Jeep.  “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Derek obliged, slipping wordlessly into the passenger seat.  Stiles was emanating contentment and giddiness and Derek could feel his own heart soar and clench with Stiles’.  He glanced over to Stiles as the teen navigated the Jeep through the woods and said, “I can’t promise anything until you turn eighteen.”

Stiles shot him a frown.  “Is _that_ why you left?  You’re not Kate.”

Derek sighed.  “Partially,” he answered, but ignored Stiles’ latter comment.  “I’m not ready for anything right now.  Not when I have a pack to build and train, and while you’re still in high school.”

Stiles frowned, “That’s not fair, you’re not letting me have any say in this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We can’t even, y’know, _date_?” Stiles said, gesticulating randomly.  “My eighteenth birthday is more than a year away!”

“I know,” Derek said, mildly amused.  “And I suppose we could, but I’d have to ask your father first.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose, “You really don’t have to do that.  Actually, you really shouldn’t.  The age difference thing is bad enough but, y’know, your arrest might be kinda important to him.” 

“No, but I want to do it right.  And like I said,” he reached over and flicked Stiles’ ear making the teen squawk and the car swerve.  Derek chuckled, “It’s your fault I was arrested.”

“Dude!”  Stiles rubbed his ear grumpily.  “You nearly killed us.”

“Will you tell him?” Derek said, changing the subject.  “About us?”

Stiles’ eyes darted from the road to Derek, his brow furrowed.  “I have a feeling you’re not talking about _us_ us anymore.”

“About werewolves,” Derek clarified.

Stiles licked his lips and Derek tracked the teen’s tongue idly.  “I dunno.  Do you think I should?”

“It might be a good idea,” Derek agreed.  “If the Sheriff knows about the supernatural, he’ll be better prepared for potential threats to the town.  And, well,” Derek smirked.  “I think your father would like to know if you’re intending to date a werewolf.” 

“You’re cruel,” Stiles scowled.  “I don’t know why I even like you.”

“It’s obviously for my charm.”

Stiles snorted.  “Obviously.”

They fell into a comfortable silence and didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.  Derek relaxed into the seat, let the scent of peppermint wash over him, lull him into security and warmth and belonging.

 

**5.**

Derek anticipated that the relative calm after the kanima would shatter eventually, but he hadn’t thought it would be so soon.  Six weeks after Jackson’s revival and Gerard’s disappearance, a rogue omega wandered into Beacon Hills.  Derek picked up the scent the day after he and Stiles came to an understanding on his old property and the subsequent car ride to Derek’s loft.  It’s been a week since then, and the omega hadn’t harmed anyone yet, only livestock and a few dogs and cats.  He knew that the Argents were on guard and Derek decided to take care of it himself.  As the alpha, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of his pack and his town – _his_ territory.

He was tracking the omega in the woods when the unmistakable scent of peppermint and bergamot and Derek cursed inwardly.  What the hell was the human doing wandering the preserve in the middle of the night alone?  Derek turned towards the teen’s scent, intent on finding Stiles and ordering him back to safety.  This was definitely not the time for Stiles’ curiosity to get the better of him, especially now that a rogue werewolf was in Beacon Hills.  What annoyed him most was that Stiles _knew_ that there was an omega in the area yet he still disregarded his own safety to seek the wolf out.

As much as Derek knew how much Stiles hated being treated differently because of his human status, he was vulnerable regardless of his bravado.  There was no competition between a werewolf and a human teenager, and Derek refused to have another death on his hands, especially Stiles’. 

Just when Derek was about to cross into his old property, he froze and his heart stopped in his chest, his blood running cold.  The omega was nearby, its scent intermingling with Stiles’.  He was in danger, and as fast as Derek could run, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it to Stiles before the omega did.  In spite of Derek’s disadvantage, he shifted into his alpha form and sprinted onwards, praying that Stiles had at least brought _something_ to protect himself with.  Wolfsbane, mountain ash, _anything_.

His fear for the human ratcheted higher when he smelt Stiles’ sudden panic; Derek was close enough to just faintly pick out the teen’s heartbeat: quick and erratic.  He barreled on with a sudden burst of adrenaline, and when he finally came to a small clearing in the forest, the omega was circling Stiles with intent.  Derek roared, announcing his presence and the omega whipped its attention to him.  Stiles’ heart stuttered, but the sudden wave of relief calmed Derek enough to allow the other wolf his regard.

But before Derek could get a proper look at the other wolf, the omega lunged forward and swiped a clawed hand at Stiles.  The teen shouted in surprise and leapt backwards, but he wasn’t quick enough; the omega’s claws raked across Stiles’ chest, tearing through his shirt, his flesh.  Stiles screamed and fell to the ground, and the strong scent of blood permeated the air. 

Derek howled in rage and launched himself at the omega, and made short work of ripping the other wolf’s throat out.  No one harmed Stiles and got away with it.  _No one_.  After he dispatched the omega, Derek shifted back to human form and was at Stiles’ side in seconds.

The human was clutching at his chest, blood oozing out of the gashes.  His pulse was only elevated slightly, and the cuts didn’t look or smell fatal, but it didn’t make Derek feel any better.  Derek gently removed Stiles’ hand only to replace it with his own.

“D-dude,” Stiles stuttered, shock and blood loss finally catching up to the teen.  “You’re n-naked.”

Derek huffed, “That’s all you have to say?”  He could resort to sarcasm and humor; he knew Stiles did it as a distraction and if it helped the teen, Derek would play along.

“B-better than anything e-else I have to say.”

Derek shook his head and pressed his palm down against Stiles’ chest.  Stiles hissed, his hands flying up to grip Derek’s wrist, trying vainly to push him away.  “Hold still.  I can take away the pain,” he explained.  Stiles was shaking, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.  He nodded weakly and Derek closed his eyes, concentrating on channeling Stiles’ hurt to himself.  When Stiles started to breathe easier, Derek felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

He leaned down, and buried his nose in the crook of the teen’s neck, and he breathed in.  Stiles squeaked in surprise but he didn’t push Derek away.  Derek was well aware of how out-of-place and awkward this was – he was naked, hovering over a teenager, and said teenager was bleeding steadily on the forest floor – but he couldn’t care less.  Stiles was alive, that was all that mattered.

Derek took in Stiles’ scent and realized that it wasn’t just Stiles’ clothes or his breath or his shampoo that smelled like peppermint – it was _Stiles_.  And it wasn’t just Derek associating peppermint with Stiles’ presence, either.  _It was **Stiles**_.  Stiles smelled like peppermint, his _skin_ smelled like peppermint, his _entire essence_ smelled like peppermint.

“You fucking idiot,” he said softly, emphatically.  He brought a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek, his face still burrowed in the crook of the human’s neck.  Stiles made a vague noise of dissent, but didn’t argue.  Derek felt Stiles tentatively bring his own hand up to rest on the nape of Derek’s neck and Derek further relaxed into Stiles.

They had to staunch and bind Stiles’ wound, but Derek allowed himself a moment of reprieve.

 

**+1**

Stiles was lying on the couch in his living room while Derek tended to the claw marks on his chest, disinfecting it carefully before wrapping his entire chest with bandages.  “Now I look like a mummy,” Stiles said drowsily.

Derek scoffed and shook his head, “At least you’re alive." 

After their somewhat awkward embrace on the forest floor, Derek had yanked the jeans off the dead omega, thanking the stars that they were only a tiny bit too tight, and carried Stiles back to his house.  Derek had immediately forced Stiles to take a couple of ibuprofen – probably a little more than the human needed, but Derek was taking no chances – before he even began fixing Stiles up.  The sheriff was thankfully on duty and not at home, otherwise Derek would have had an extremely awkward conversation on his hands, especially since Stiles hadn’t told his father yet about werewolves and the supernatural. 

Stiles hummed and batted at Derek’s arm.  “You’re not naked anymore.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.  “No, I’m not.”  He settled down next to the couch, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Why not?  You look good naked.”

Derek snorted.  Yeah, he gave him too many painkillers.  Stiles was as high as a kite.

“Hey,” Stiles said, turning his head languidly to stare at Derek.  He met Stiles’ gaze and Stiles reached for Derek’s hand, lacing their fingers together.  “‘M sorry.”

Derek stared stupidly at their hands for a moment.  “For what?” he managed after a brief silence.

“I dunno,” Stiles shrugged as best he could lying down.  “For getting in the way.  For freaking you out.  For almost dying.  All of the above.”

Derek sighed.  “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try.  Promise.”  Derek huffed and squeezed Stiles’ hand, knowing that Stiles would most definitely do it again, but it also wouldn’t be on purpose.  Not completely, anyway.  “Can I go up to my bed now?  ‘S more comfortable.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Derek untangled their fingers and Stiles made a noise of protest.  He rolled his eyes and gently picked up the teen, one arm slipping under his knees and the other under his shoulders.  Derek easily carried Stiles across the room and up the stairs, nudging Stiles’ door open with his foot before entering and closing the door behind him.  He lay Stiles down on the bed then pulled the comforter out from under the teen and adjusted them over him.

“‘R you tucking me in?” Stiles slurred.

“Yes,” Derek answered unashamedly.  “You need to sleep.  And you need to tell your father about us.”

“Us us or us werewolves?” Stiles said, smiling cheekily.

Derek huffed.  “Both, if you wish.  Though I don’t think your father would take very kindly to me if he finds out about both at the same time with the state you’re in now.” 

“His bullets can’t hurt you.”

“They can’t _kill_ me,” Derek corrected.  “They’d still hurt.”

“I won’t let him.”

Derek let out an amused breath, reaching forward and running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.  It was growing out a little, and he quite liked it.  “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

He made to turn away but Stiles grabbed his wrist before he could.  “Stay.  Please.” 

“I don’t think – ”

“ _Please_.”  Stiles looked up at him with imploring eyes and Derek groaned inwardly.  He’ll never be able to say no to this human, he can tell already.

Derek extricated himself from Stiles’ grip, and Stiles whined petulantly, thinking that Derek was ignoring his plea.  But Derek simply padded over to Stiles’ drawers, plucked out one of the teen’s sweats, and shucked off his borrowed jeans to slip them on.  When he came back to the bed, Stiles was smiling stupidly and Derek couldn’t help but smile back.  He climbed in next to Stiles, and the teen scooted closer, taking care not to aggravate his wounds.

“Now will you sleep?” Derek asked, warmth settling in his chest, his heart skipping beats. 

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed, nuzzling into Derek’s side.  Stiles fell asleep almost instantly, and Derek followed moments later.  When he woke up hours later, Stiles was plastered against his side, warm and solid against him, and Derek never felt so content.  He brought a hand up to trace Stiles’ moles, run his fingers through Stiles’ hair.  Derek almost lost Stiles last night.  That horrifying thought, more than anything, terrified Derek, and he realized that his excuse of not being ready for a relationship was now inadequate.  He hadn’t been ready for what happened last night, and he knew with certainty that danger will always be lurking right around the corner.  Derek would never be ‘ready’ because life and time waited for no one and they’d _always_ be in some sort of danger no matter what.

The teen stirred and Derek yanked his hand away, guilty.  Stiles blinked sleepily and peered up at Derek, then a tentative but genuine grin tugged at his lips.  “Morning,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Morning.”

“Time’zit?”

Derek glanced at the clock on Stiles’ desk.  It read 6:02am.  He relayed the time and Stiles grunted, burying his face into Derek’s chest.  “Dad’ll be home soon.”

“Should I – ” he started.

“No,” Stiles interrupted him.  “Stay.  I can’t explain werewolves to him with no evidence.”

“I’d say your wounds are more than enough evidence,” Derek said drily.

“Maybe, but I don’t want him to think it was you who did it.”

Derek frowned, “Would he really?”

“No.”  A pause, then, “I don’t know.”  He sighed.  “I just want you there when I tell him everything.  Then you can, y’know, be honorable or whatever and ask his permission to date his underage son.”

Derek snorted and turned to nuzzle Stiles’ hair.  He smelled content, a little anxious, and there was just a small inkling of pain laced in Stiles’ usual scent of cinnamon, bergamot, and peppermint.  “Okay,” he agreed. 

Stiles jerked away, then immediately grimaced as he jostled his wound.  But he still stared at Derek, eyes wide with surprise.  “Really?”  Derek nodded.  “What about the whole,” he flapped a hand awkwardly underneath the comforter, “Not ready thing?”

Derek sighed.  “I never will be.”  Stiles stiffened next to him, and Derek hastened to explain.  “ _We_ never will be.  I didn’t want to put you in danger, but I realized that because of what I am, it’s unavoidable.”

“But, what about what you said about you being alpha and training and building your pack?”

“You’re a distraction.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it.  “Oh.”

Derek smirked, “Yeah, ‘oh’.”

“So . . . ” Stiles said, licking his lips, his gaze darting from Derek’s eyes to his mouth.  He smelled faintly of arousal but mostly of anticipation and giddiness.  And Derek without needing further prompting, leaned in and placed a chaste yet passionate kiss on Stiles’ lips.

And he tasted like peppermint.


End file.
